


An Eggcellent Morning For Cooking Lessons

by ash_mcj, fairytalesandfolklore, Nutellargh, Tails89



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: But also this would actually happen, Cooking Lessons, Crack, Derek's Betas, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eggs, Family Feels, Family Fluff, M/M, Silly, The Hale Pack - Freeform, egg puns, pack as family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29666007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_mcj/pseuds/ash_mcj, https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalesandfolklore/pseuds/fairytalesandfolklore, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nutellargh/pseuds/Nutellargh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89
Summary: Stiles, Erica, and Isaac attempt to teach Derek how to cook an egg. It goes about as well as expected.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 26
Kudos: 149
Collections: Sterek Goodness





	An Eggcellent Morning For Cooking Lessons

Saturday mornings at Derek’s loft are the busiest, because his betas and Stiles have made it a habit to sleep over on Fridays after their weekly pack nights. Derek gets up with the sun, goes for a jog, and then comes back and fumbles around in the kitchen until something edible is somehow created. Boyd wakes at some point and makes himself a breakfast fit for a king, which he shares with no one. Then, when the morning is reaching closer to noon, Erica, Isaac, and Stiles wander down, looking like they haven’t slept in a year, despite getting more sleep than anyone could possibly need.

Today is no different. Derek is in the kitchen, staring at the carton of eggs on the counter, when Erica and Isaac walk in sluggishly, sporting crinkled pajamas and sleep-mussed hair.

“Whatcha doin’, boss man?” Erica asks, going up to Derek.

“I want to make an egg, but I’m not totally sure what I’m doing,” Derek replies.

“What kind of egg?” Erica asks.

“The one with the liquid yolk.”

“Pan-fried, poached, or soft-boiled?”

“Not boiled. I want the yolk to be _runny_.”

“Yeah...soft boiled _is_ runny.” Isaac insists.

Derek just stands there, staring at him in confusion.

“I think you mean hard-boiled,” Erica says.

“Since when were there two different types of boiled eggs?” Derek asks, exasperated.

Erica and Isaac stare at him, mouths open.

“Jesus,” Erica groans, rolling her eyes. “Stiles!” she shouts into the other room. “Come get your man!”

A few seconds later, Stiles stumbles into the kitchen with a gravity-defying case of bedhead, blinking blearily.

“What’d he do now?” Stiles asks with a fond sigh.

“I just wanted an egg,” Derek says defensively.

“What _kind_ of egg?” Stiles asks.

“The, you know—” Derek splutters. “The _normal_ one!”

Stiles squints at him, one eyebrow arched.

“See what we’re dealing with here?” Isaac asks.

“All kinds of eggs are _normal_ eggs, Derek,” Stiles says, and then pauses, eyes growing wide. “Unless...wait, are _dragons_ real? Do you have a dragon egg hidden somewhere in this loft? Tell me you’re not making _dragon_ omelettes.”

Derek sighs and rolls his eyes.

“No, I mean the ones that come from chickens.”

“Okay, but that doesn’t answer my question. Are dragons real, and if so—”

“You know, I’m actually getting pretty good at poaching eggs,” Isaac says thoughtfully.

Stiles pauses mid-ramble, sticking a pin in the dragon debate because they are _so_ circling back to that. Because yeah, he’ll be damned if dragons are real and he _doesn’t_ end up with his very own Toothless.

“Oh really?” he asks, turning to Isaac. “It’s been a while since I’ve made them.”

“What the fuck is a _poached egg_?” Derek asks, eyes narrowed.

“It’s like boiling them, but without the shell,” Isaac supplies.

Derek looks like he’s about to have an aneurysm.

“Why would anyone do that?” he asks, incredulous.

“Because it’s _delicious_ ,” Erica says. “Why do you _breathe_?”

“But how— how does that... _work_?” Derek asks.

“It’s easy,” Stiles says. “You just crack one into a pot full of water and wait about three minutes. They’re awesome on toast.”

“Oh, but make sure the water isn’t, like, _boiling_ , because it’ll rip the eggs to shreds,” Erica notes. “Think bubbling, not boiling.”

“There’s a _difference_?” Derek asks.

“Yeah. Boiling is big bubbles. What you want is small bubbles,” Stiles says.

“You wanna see the bubbles rising to the top, but not enough to make, like, _waves_ , y’know? You don’t want it looking _angry_ ,” Erica says.

“I’ve been boiling water with the small bubbles my entire life,” Derek says quietly.

Stiles leans forward, draping an arm around Derek’s shoulders.

“It’s okay, that’s a good way to cook food,” he says reassuringly.

Derek shrugs him off and rolls his eyes.

“Simmer,” Boyd perks up from the kitchen table.

They all turn to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“What you mean is that you’re supposed to bring it to a _simmer_ ,” Boyd clarifies.

“What?” Erica asks, confused.

“Never mind,” Boyd sighs, shaking his head and turning his attention back to his breakfast. Derek turns back to face Stiles, Isaac, and Erica, a bewildered expression on his face.

“I’ve literally never even heard of poaching eggs before,” he says.

“What, were you raised by wolves, or something?” Stiles quips, fighting back a smirk as Derek levels him with a withering glare.

“There’s also eggs in a basket, where you fry up the egg right in the middle of the toast,” Isaac offers up, hoping to drag their attention back to the conversation so he doesn’t have to endure another round of flirtatious bickering.

“Derek isn’t advanced enough in the _art of the egg_ for eggs in a basket,” Stiles chuckles. “Our Sourwolf needs to start off with baby steps.”

“Pro-tip: a spoonful of vinegar helps keep everything together when poaching,” Isaac advises.

“That’s great, but can we move on from poaching?” Derek asks. “That’s not what I want.”

“Hold on—” Erica says. “You put _vinegar_ in your eggs, Isaac?”

“It helps,” Isaac shrugs.

“But at _what cost_?” Erica exclaims. “Derek, sweetie, please don’t put vinegar in your eggs. All you need to do is stir the water a little bit before you drop the egg in.”

“The egg doesn’t _taste_ like vinegar,” Isaac protests.

“If you can’t taste _vinegar_ , then you shouldn’t be allowed to make any contributions to this conversation,” Erica decides. “I’ll bet your eggs taste like shit.”

“Wait, doesn’t Boyd, like, _actually_ cook?” Stiles realizes, turning to look at him. “Why aren’t you helping us? You are _literally_ a chef.”

“I don’t like eggs,” Boyd insists, completely straight-faced as he shovels a whole fried egg into his mouth.

“That right there!” Derek says, pointing to the golden-yolked egg speared on the end of Boyd’s fork. “I just want one with the fucking yolk on top. It shouldn’t be this complicated.”

“Oh, that’s a fried egg,” Erica says.

“I— sure, whatever the fuck they’re called,” Derek groans, throwing his hands into the air.

“Okay, so you’ll need a frying pan,” Erica says.

“Yeah, thanks. I know that much,” Derek grumbles.

“Well, you didn’t know that three types of eggs even existed before this morning, and you’re twenty-six years old, so I had to make sure,” Erica teases.

Fixing Erica with a weary glare, Derek reaches into the cupboard and withdraws a pan, places it on the stove, and sets the burner to the highest setting.

“No,” Stiles and Erica admonish at the same time.

Derek turns back toward them, frowning.

“I haven’t even _touched_ an egg yet,” he grouses. “How can I possibly have _already_ done something wrong?”

“If you want a crispy edge, you can set it to medium — but a high temperature will burn the shit out of your eggs,” Erica explains.

“Which will smell and taste horrible,” Isaac confirms.

“Yeah, always use a lower setting,” Stiles agrees. “Put a little butter or oil in the pan to coat the bottom, then crack the egg as close as you can to the pan so you don’t fuck up the yolk.”

“If the egg has a lot of fat, I usually wiggle the pan a little bit to let it droop, or the white won’t set right,” Erica says.

“Once the egg is in the pan, all you’ve gotta do is wait until it goes from a clear liquidy sort of slime to fluffy white, and you’re all set,” Stiles says. “And hey, if the yolk gets messed up, just turn it into scrambled eggs.”

Derek stares at him like he’s just rattled off instructions in a dead language.

“This is ridiculous,” he says. “I should’ve just cracked one into my protein shake like I usually do.”

Everyone in the room, even Boyd, who’s been pointedly ignoring this idiotic conversation, looks on in horror.

“I’m sorry, _what the fuck_ did you just say?” Stiles gasps.

“You eat them _raw_?” Isaac asks, lip curling in disgust.

“Who are you, _Gaston_?” Stiles teases.

“Jesus, Derek,” Erica agrees. “You aren’t _Rocky_.”

“I— oh my god, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to kiss you again,” Stiles says, miming vomiting over his shoulder.

“Shut up,” Derek says defensively.

“No seriously, dude,” Stiles says. “That’s _nasty_.”

“That’s like eating a raw chicken embryo,” Isaac grimaces.

“I mean, it’s not like it’s _fertilized_ ,” Erica corrects. “It’s more like a...chicken _period_.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Derek huffs, shoving the carton of eggs back into the fridge. “I’m never eating eggs again.” 

Derek storms out of the kitchen to sulk in his bedroom, leaving Stiles, Erica, and Isaac to stand there for a moment, lips pursed to keep from bursting out laughing, and then—

“Wow, I never thought cooking lessons could be so _eggshausting_ ,” Erica quips, smirk giving way to a full-blown shit-eating grin.

“Doesn’t even know what a poached egg is; thought we were going to have to _eggsile_ him,” Isaac tacks on with a snort.

“Yeah, but what he lacks in cooking skills, he makes up for in looks, so I figure, eh, _omlettin’_ this slide,” Stiles says, and the three of them burst into giggles. 

Amidst peals of laughter, Boyd makes his way over to the kitchen sink, carefully setting down his plate, and turning to make his way out the front door.

“I hope you’re happy,” he says, addressing the three of them with a reproving look on his face, and then his lips quirk into a wry smile. “Our poor alpha’s in there having an _eggistential_ crisis.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This was literally a conversation that ash_mcj had with fairytalesandfolklore, tails89, and nutellargh this morning, where they taught ash_mcj how to make eggs, and we converted it into a Hale Pack version. Yes, ash_mcj is Derek. She's ashamed.
> 
> We'd love to know if you got a laugh out of this, because we definitely did!


End file.
